Thovar Axebeard is a noble born Dwarf from the mountain kingdom of Gulgarkitosh. His Uncle is Prince Gotork, but his father is a lesser noble called Tringkor the Shameless.

Thovar was raised as a warrior in the fearsome Gulgarkitosh clan. Had things gone to plan, Thovar might even be a warlord or chieftan by now, but alas, things do not always go to plan…

Thovar had discovered a nafarious plot to undermine his kingdom. Prince Gotork (spit on his grave) had been making deals with a rival goblin kingdom in order to gain more power in his quest for the throne of Gulgarkitosh. The Prince, it seems, had been trading dwarven armour and weapons in order to convince the goblins into staging an attack that would make Prince Gotork appear to be victorious – therefore winning his favour with the elder council and King Gulgar. Thovar learned of the plot innocently enough, by rifling through his uncle’s chest looking for a match to light his pipe. He discovered documents that proved his uncle’s guilt and gave details of the plans and his correspondence with the goblins.

Thovar confronted his Uncle immediately (as he was caught red-handed rifiling through the papers). Prince Gotork attacked Thovar immediately – fighting ferociously to save his crown and keep his evil deeds hidden. Thovar killed his Prince Gotork with his bare hands – and was again found red-handed over his uncle’s body by the princes’ attendant. Needless to say – it appeared that Thovar murdered his uncle in cold blood and Thovar fled, attempting to seek help, and regain his honour.

Before Thovar could find his family and friends the alarm had been raised and the accusations had flown throughout the kingdom. Thovar was as good as dead and the shame that fell on the Family broke his heart and crushed his will to live. Thovar left the mountain Kingdom in the dead of night following the death of Gotork. He vowed never to return unless he could prove his innocence somehow. Instead he would seek to expunge the dishonour befallen his family by seeking the most glorious death possible, vanquishing evil and seeking out the foes most worthy of his blade and his life.

In this lifetime, Artheon has spent years studying the intelligent races of the world to try and understand their cultures and soceities in the hope of bringing reason to the cycle of peace and wars that have coursed through centuries.

He has spent most of his life travelling through cities and towns, visting temples, listening to stories and legends (some of which nudge an ever distant memory), witnessed great kings and seen the decline of failed dynasties. He has visited the halls of the dwarves, the forests of the elves, the clans of orcs and hobgoblins. Whilst not every location has been friendly towards his aims, they have each given him an insight to build upon the larger picture for the purpose of life.

Always an outsider though where ever he may wander due to his appearance clearly marking his Deva background, Artheon is no stranger to violence, frequently being set upon by those who are afraid of what he is to those who are all to those familiar with what his racial history is. However, his travels and studys have allowed his to bring the arcane forces to play upon the weaknesses of the minds he has studied.

Whilst Artheon regrets such instances, he cannot allow the will of those who do not understand his purpose to attempt to block him and will do what he must to prevent it.

Artheon is well aware of how daunting his appearance gives to the most of the mortals who have never seen a being such as himself. To better allow himself to remain undisturbed, he has given to covering most of his skin during his travels, only disrobing when in private. He covers his head with a headscarf that keep only his eyes visible.

He keeps quiet most of the time as he travels, contemplating different ideas within his mind but is open to conversation with others. He has the makings of a sense of humour, no doubt rubbing off on to him with his mixture of life, but is still lacking. He is quick of thinking and uses his knowledge of cultures to draw him out of situations or, better yet, not get in to them in the first place. He will however, not lie if required and sticks rigidly to the morale code of his race, not daring to let his quest for knowledge besmirch his soul. This in mind, he is ruthless against agents of evil or those who obstruct his path.

Artheon has found himself near Brindol during his travels and has heard tales of a group of heroes sacrificing their well being for the good of the people to fend of a growing evil. This fresh tales are ones he has not heard before and has actively seeked out the party and observed their actions from afar. However, rising curiosity has got the better of him and he wishes to know more about these seemingly paragons of good, find out what drives them in their quest and what keeps their trust between each other. Perhaps in doing so, Artheon will get closer to the answers he so desperately seeks.

Our gallant heroes have their hands on the Ghostlord’s Phylactery. Or the Ghostly Phallus, or the Phallus Factory, or Horcrux or some damn thing. Either way, they are unsure what to do with it, and decide the head back down south towards the villages full of frightened refugees to find someone who can help them out with this ancient, mystical artefact. Those elves, steeped in arcane lore, can go screw themselves.

Several days uneventful travel sees the party approaching Witchcross, where they discover wounded refugees being loaded onto carts by clerics of Pelor. Doomsayer Brynn proves the wrong person to ask for aid.

From the nearby inn a tall figure swathed in ornate robes approaches. “Are you Stupid, Reckless and Overwhelmed?” the newcomer asks. “No” lies Habbakuk: “We are Clever, Cautious and On-top.”

The stranger explains he is a wizard named Artheon, and has been following the party Their reputation is growing it seems. He has knowledge of the phylactery they carry and is willing to help. At this point Brynn is approached by a smoking hot redhead who gazes up at him in awe. “Are you him? The mighty leader of the Saviours of Drellin’s Ferry?” Brynn is seized by the urge to go away and do secret things.

The girl, named Miha, begs to join the party, and Brynn for one is convinced. Everyone else is convinced that, as an attractive NPC, she is obviously evil and should be killed at once. Cynics.

The party then repair to the local inn, Miha in tow, and discuss how to deal with the Phylactery. It seems just destroying it won’t help as the lich will simply re-absorb his soul fragment.

Apocalypsia finally tires of Miha’s simpering and attempts to blast her. Brynn throws himself in front of the bolt, and all hell breaks loose. Villagers rush to defend the poor innocent Miha, who kisses Brynn passionately in gratitude. He has never before seen so beautiful a woman.

Unarmed innocent civilians are mown down by our heroic adventurers whilst Brynn and others are seized with the compulsion to attack their own comrades. People leap through windows, munchkin powers combine in hideous synergy to screw with the DMs plans. Miha summons a large crow and sends it aloft carrying a message. Apocalypsia, at extreme range, turns it into a red cloud of feathers. Miha doesn’t last much longer. And neither does the sole remaining witness, an injured refugee.

But who was this mysterious succubus spy? Why was she so interested in the party, what message was she sending and what will the party do next?

Game on for this Friday. I’m off to Birmingham in the day but should be back in plenty of time. However Sam is decorating the games room at the mo. Is your place available Jules? If not we should still be able to sort something here.

When we left the party back in May (May!) they were debating what to do next re the Phylactery of the Ghostlord, having lost their bard and gained an army of lizardmen.